The first time I found him I was sixteen.
He was crumpled under his bike like an unpaid bar tab.
He smelled like cigarettes and something lonely.
The second time I found him I was nineteen.
He was half-hanging out of the truck door,
talking to himself, barefoot and shirtless, a lost child.
Another time I found him, playing hookie
from work, and he told me about the bleeding
stomach ulcers caused by the poison still in his hand.
Each time I found the anchor of my father,
I dragged him home and laid him belly down,
rescuing something that already drowned.
Lori Werner is a poet from Savannah, Georgia. She graduated from Armstrong Atlantic State University with a degree in History. Her influences are southern gothic literature, anything Americana, and Joanna Newsom.